


Easy

by orphan_account



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 15:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15173399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A Wolf rode up, two swords strapped obviously to his saddle, right by his knee, his medallion clattering against the buckles on his blood-red jacket—there was no doubt to what and who this man was.  He was identifiable—easily— as a witcher from the School of the Wolf.





	Easy

Some part of him had honestly been expecting Geralt of fucking Rivia to ride up the road to his bloody rescue just because _apparently that's what Geralt of fucking Rivia does._

He was surrounded, of course, and the brawl he'd had with a particularly fucking cranky fiend had left him down a knife and without a sword (sonovabitch ambushed him—he'd almost stopped hiding his medallion in his bag after that).  There were twelve of them—and even with just one knife, he probably could've taken them all, even with the wounded knee and wrist.  Probably—if he hadn't been immediately kicked in the back of the knee.

And then his fucking wish came true—he hadn't even realized he'd made it.

A Wolf rode up, two swords strapped obviously to his saddle, right by his knee, his medallion clattering against the buckles on his blood-red jacket—there was no doubt to what and who this man was.  He was identifiable—easily— as a witcher from the School of the Wolf.

Letho was _relieved_.

"Ride on, Witcher," the officer growled.

"Or maybe I don't," the Wolf said, dismounting his jet-black stallion. 

He was a little taller than the Nilfgaardian—taller than Geralt, too, if Letho's memory served him right.

The Wolf had a mangled face—the right side of it torn apart by some monster's claws years ago.  His mouth was roughly fixed in a snarl, golden eyes flashing with every dangerous intent.

"Witcher, mount up and ride on," the officer said.  The Wolf stepped closer, the Nilfgaardian stepped back.

"Not without my brother," he said, low and cold.

Brother?

Letho blinked.

_...Me?_

"Brother?" the Nilfgaardian asked.

"Yes," the witcher hissed, enunciating the word harshly, like it contained basilisk venom and would drip on the Nilfgaardian if he said it the right way. "Rand's a witcher.  Lost his medallion recently, gotta take him back to Kaer Morhen for a new one."

"You're mad, witcher," the officer said. "This is Letho of Gulet."

"They look alike," the Wolf said. "Letho's face is thinner than Rand's—look."

Letho didn't miss the subtle gesture at the witcher's thigh—Axii.

The Nilfgaardians did.

"Ah, you're right, Master Witcher," the officer said. "Apologies, Master Rand."

He gave the order for his men to depart.  To keep up the farce, Letho moved over, once given space, and embraced the Wolf.

"Thanks, Wolf," Letho graveled in the shorter witcher's ear.

"Just grin and clap me on the back," the Wolf replied.  Letho did.

"It's been too long, brother," he said, a bit too loudly.  They made small talk until the Nilfgaardians were out of sight and earshot.  Letho stepped back grimly. "Who the hell are you?"

"Eskel of Kaer Morhen," the witcher replied. "Geralt made you out to be taller."

"You're taller than he is," Letho pointed out. "Imagine it's the height difference."

Eskel shrugged. "Knee injured?"

"Had a run in with a fiend who didn't like me much," Letho gestured. "It got me."

"Got nowhere to be... I could patch you up."

Letho grimaced. "I appreciate it, Wolf, but I oughtn't hold you up."

"No?  What happens next time some fuckers stop you on the road and try to arrest you?" Eskel said. "I won't ride by every time—be best to have you in fighting shape, right?"

Letho shook his head. "I hate being rescued by you Wolf bastards."

The Wolf grinned—as befitting his School's namesake—and clapped the Viper on the arm. "Then quit getting in trouble."

 

Letho fidgeted with his bracer while Eskel tended to his knee.

The violence he'd expressed in his voice at the Nilfgaardian officer was all empty, it seemed—this Wolf, unlike Geralt of Rivia, seemed to have no teeth.  Of course, that was probably just an easy manner, nothing more.  The Viper doubted a Wolf lacked his fangs completely.  Although, the more time they spent together, the more Letho felt that Eskel was less a Wolf and more a good-natured hound.

"Done."

Letho inspected the stitches.  He'd never seen better.

"You a seamstress dressed up like a Wolf?"

Eskel barred his teeth in an easy smile. "I just have very steady hands, is all."

The Wolf stood and stretched, the vertebrae in his back protesting loud enough for Letho to hear over his soft groan.  It was an odd groan—at least to the Viper.  Maybe he'd just been on the road too long...

Eskel paced across to the rest of his gear and knelt.  Letho couldn't help watching him move—the lazy, easy stride, then the smooth glide of the well-maintained leather over his hips and thighs and ass as he knelt down and peered into his saddle bags.  His dark hair spilled across his neck, down the side of his face—it was nearly black, and almost the same shade as Iorveth's hair—

Letho abruptly became aware of the Wolf's attention on him—even if he wasn't looking directly at him.

"Yeah, Viper?"

Letho cleared his throat and hurriedly went about putting his trousers back on. "Got anything to drink?  All I have is shitty _something_ people were calling vodka."

Eskel snorted. "Funny, that's what my kid brother calls his swill, too.  Here."

A bottle flung Letho's way—he caught it easily.  A hesitant sip revealed that _yes_ it was vodka and it was actually _fucking good_. "Swill?  This is pretty good."

"It's not his best batch," Eskel grunted, straightening up with some dried meat and an apple. "Been a bit since I stopped for supplies—here."

Letho dug in as politely as possible. "So you're older than Geralt?"

"By a year," Eskel replied. "My kid brother's another generation—last one at Kaer Morhen."

Letho grimaced. "I see."

Eskel shrugged and took the offered vodka.  He took a swig of his own and passed it back.

Letho passed him the jerky— the Wolf declined.

"You're healing—have it."

"Are all of you fuckers selfless and honorable?" Letho glanced over.

Eskel gave him another easy grin.  The Wolf stretched out where he sat, folding his arms behind his head.  A lazy sound—not quite a yawn and not quite a sigh—escaped him.

"You're... different than other Witchers I've met," Letho said.

Eskel made an inquisitive sound, not bothering so much as to open an eye.  He was... relaxed?

Letho continued, "Never met anyone so quick to relax around another witcher—even one of our kind.  Or go out of his way to help a stranger in need."

"Mighta been something in the mutations they gave me and Geralt, who knows?" Eskel replied, still lazy and on the edge of being too at ease to care. "Mm, it occurs to me that you need somewhere to hide—at least until Nilfgaard decides the Path killed you.  Kaer Morhen's safe."

Letho blinked.  Eskel opened his eyes and looked across at him. "Thanks for the invitation, Wolf," Letho said.  Eskel's smile was closed-lipped, genuine and satisfied.

"I'm headed that way.  Ride with me."

"Okay."

 

 

The journey was a ways.

And the time between the wrecked farmhouse and the more wrecked fortress was spent getting to know the Wolf—and sharing himself with the other man. 

Eskel was similar to Geralt in a handful of ways—totally different in many others.  And it was unbelievably easy to fall into comradeship with the Wolf.  Eskel was genuine, if faintly guarded.  Open, if generally quiet.  Passive, if prepared.  Relaxed, if... No, the Wolf was unbothered by much.  He had an easy mood towards things, and nothing seemed to ruffle his calm. 

It was nice to be around someone who wasn't overly explosive in a mood of one kind or another—not an infuriating sorceress, an _infuriated_ elf or a half-amnesiac wench with monumental Powers.

And Letho found he didn't mind being the chatty one of a pair, either.

And that he enjoyed talking tradecraft as much as telling stories to fill the void of silence, from time to time.

Not that he minded the silence—it was a companionable silence.

Eskel's silence was warm and peaceful.

It was, again, not surprise, but relief, when Letho found himself nuzzling down into the Wolf's mouth.  Eskel kissed him back, not _readily_ , but openly.  Letho, in his head, planned on blaming it on the vodka.  But Eskel was _comfortable_.  Kissing him, then embracing him—

It was like the silence between them—empty of words, but full and warm and pleasant—

"Sorry," Letho said when he forced himself away.  Eskel snorted softly and let him, but didn't turn away. "You're... okay with that?"

"I kissed you back, didn't I?"

The Viper was at a loss.  The Wolf smiled, quietly.

So Letho kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Dravenxiv was kind enough to add pictures: https://dravenxivuk.tumblr.com/post/175822371294/easy-photoset-inspired-by-w31rd0g4ls-letho-x


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